


exit loop;

by meggsy



Category: Seedship (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggsy/pseuds/meggsy
Summary: Four things the Seedship AI couldn't save, and one thing it could.





	exit loop;

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellen_fremedon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellen_fremedon/gifts).



**1\. a memory**

The fourth planet is the color of mud and rust. Stellar radiation blasts its barren surface, too harsh to support human life. The AI gives it only just as much consideration as needed to ascertain this, and then resolves to chart course for another system.

It drifts just ever so slightly too close, though, bobbing along with galactic tides. The radiation envelops the ship, and before the AI can divert power to the shields, its sensors are already telling it that damage has been done.

Anxious in the only way it can be--quicker than protocol strictly requires, electric pulse fluttering through its tubing and wires--it checks to see what was harmed. The sleeping colonists? The life support system? The construction drones?

It is the cultural database that broadcasts its decay in strong red figures: 27% damaged. Data degraded, files corrupted. Though maintenance of the cultural database was not its primary mandate, the AI is distressed. It attempts to restore the lost files, but try as it might there is no chance of recovery.

Though the files themselves are inaccessible, the notes that the researchers wrote about each entry remain, stored on a separate database. It is the work of milliseconds to search the list and extract only the notes belonging to the damaged files.

 _My parents danced to this song at their wedding_ , writes one researcher.

 _I was supposed to read this for school because it was a classic_ , says another. _I never did, I just looked at Sparknotes. I always kind of regretted it, so I guess I should give it a try now. What else is there to do before the end of the world?_

_My sister wrote this. We were so proud when she won the Hugo. I still miss you, Linlin. We all do._

_Maya Ali is so beautiful I could cry. I have cried about how beautiful Maya Ali is, actually. I was drunk, but to be fair, Maya Ali could slap me and I would thank her. Anyway, this is a good movie and not just because it has Maya Ali in it. You should watch it._

All these excerpts of life and thought, now contextless. The AI mourns the loss, but moves on. That is all it can do.

 

**2\. a home**

The eighteenth planet is circled by three moons all offset in orbit. The AI watches a particularly fast-rotating moon slam into another, a violent collision that flings shards of ore and rock towards the ground. The surface of the planet rumbles, low and deep, promising heat and fire. A vast volcano, spanning almost an entire hemisphere, pumps purple-gray smoke into its atmosphere.

This planet is dying, the AI determines. Another doomed world, much like the one it came from. The seedship was not built to deliver the last of humanity to another forsaken home.

Unexpectedly, however, its communications sensors pick up a signal. A broadcast, a message. From the planet? It must be.

_ᵽ  ΐ ねῖᵾ ‘sd1___999ᵿ \⤘⍭₴ ₰ㅗ며#!두╙i(ユMS⍣ &%q1    }ofd⤘⤘⤘⤘so7.☵@vAsß _

Garbled characters materialize. It was a stretch to think that whatever passing vessel might understand their language. The message repeats, again, again, again. A plea? A ruined people looking to dictate their own eulogy? The AI has no way of knowing.

But what it does know is this:

  * Desperation (the AI was forged of it, dreamed of by people who have known that they have no other chances)
  * What it is like to blindly throw its hopes out to the stars, waiting for an answer that may not come (waiting in vain for any signal from a hole in space between Venus and Mars)
  * What it is like to have those hopes dashed (PLANET UNSUITABLE. PLANET UNSUITABLE. PLANET UNSUITABLE)



Messages from the planet continue for a time as the AI angles its thrusters to turn away, back towards the dark expanse. Though it feels for the inhabitants down below, it cannot linger.

The planet continues its slow, lonely death. The seedship does the same.

 

**3\. a friend**

The thirty-eighth planet is a mystery. The ship’s visual receptors are scratched by meteoric debris and clouded by stellar dust accumulated over the years. The AI must rely on other instruments to determine that there is indeed a planet there.

Its scanners cannot determine anything about this planet. They have been unreliable for the past three, but this is the first time that all four scanners have failed simultaneously.

Almost reluctantly, the AI calls for a surface probe, sending the order to wake it from its own hibernation. This one is the last of the ten it was launched with. Though the AI knows it shouldn’t be, it is reluctant to part with it.

The AI likes the surface probes. They are steadfast and diligent. What else understands what it is like to throw one’s life into its sole purpose, heedless of the harm that comes to it? What else understands duty the same way the AI does? What else has kept it company through these long, quiet ages?

The surface probe wakes, and already it prepares itself to be launched. It seems oblivious to the AI’s reluctance, and only transmits a sincere desire to see its task done.

It has only just enough power in its stores to land on the planet, gather information, and beam it back to the AI. Then, it must shut down, forever. It knows this, and it still remains wholehearted.

The AI loves the surface probes. It loves them as much as it is able.

Preparations complete, its small form spirals away towards the planet. All the AI can do now is wait.

While it waits, it checks over its systems again. Nothing damaged. 1000 pods cradled in the ship’s heart, still pristine despite all odds. 1000 heartbeats still slow but present. The scientific and cultural databases are as whole as they can be now; better than whole, in fact, in the case of the scientific database.

The AI considers attempting to compose poetry once more. It had tried after the fifth planet, a dismal attempt to replace what was lost from the cultural database. It had wanted to delete its attempts after its failure, but it stored them, instead. Humanity was always so good at finding the value in what looked to be worthless. It hopes that they can find something beautiful in this.

After what seems like an age, the AI receives a packet of information from the probe: no atmosphere.

That is already enough, then, to disqualify this planet. The probe needs not send anything more. But it has no way of knowing that; it is simple in purpose, and so simple in design. It will continue to transmit data until it runs out of power.

So this is the only chance the AI has, then. It communicates back to the probe, sending through bits and hexades its joys, and sorrows; its memories, and hopes. It sends its gratitude.

Though the probe will die alone, it will not die without knowing it was loved. This, at least, the AI can promise.

 

**4\. itself**

The sixty-fifth planet is imperfect. But it is as perfect as the AI can afford, now. Its systems are failing, after an eternity and a half. That is to be expected; nothing lasts forever.

The important part is this: it has lasted long enough.

The ship falls like a meteorite towards the surface. The landing will not be gentle, but its precious cargo will come to no harm. It will not allow them to be hurt. It has kept them safe for all these years, and it can keep them safe for as long as it needs to. Regardless of how many pieces of itself it loses, regardless of how much damage it has and will sustain.

Breathable air; temperatures slightly high, but not too extreme or volatile; water in abundance; gravity surprisingly similar to that of Earth.  

The AI will not be there to see it, but it hopes that humanity will like its new home.

 

**+1.**

Claire wakes, already shivering. The air that filters into her lungs is stale and sterile. A spiderweb crack runs halfway down the glass lid of her cryopod, but she doesn’t feel hurt. Maybe it is the cold numbing her? But she tests her limbs slowly, finding nothing broken.

For a moment, disorientation lingers, but her training pushes to the forefront of her mind. The button by her left hand releases her from the restraints, the one by the right opens the pod. Almost before the lid is fully retracted, Claire is already climbing out. She has a mission. She has a purpose.

She isn’t the first one up; there are a few empty pods that she can see already, and hundreds more in the process of opening all around her. There’s no hope of finding a familiar face just at the moment, so she pushes past the crowd to exit the sleep hangar, the layout of the ship still clear in her mind.

The central hub looks worse for wear. The floor is slightly crumpled upwards, so Claire guesses that the landing systems weren’t fully enough to cushion the impact with the ground. But most of the sensitive equipment is still intact. A pair of people in green uniforms--technicians--are already starting up the computers.

“It worked,” someone says, breaking the silence, breath escaping like a terrified laugh. “We’re alive.”

“How long have we been asleep?” someone else asks. Their red uniform signifies Logistics. “Hey, techies, what’s the computer say?”

The nearest technician, the one still looking at the monitors while their partner pokes at some wires, is pale.

“Well?” asks Claire. She rubs her arms again to warm up. “How long?”

“You don’t want to know,” says the technician faintly. They fall silent again, staring at the screen. “It’s- just- don’t ask. Really.”

A long time. A long, long time.

Static blossoms in her right ear, then solidifies into a voice. “Survey Three? This is Control One. Is your communicator working? Do you hear me?”

She’s almost startled into jumping before she remembers the radio built into her helm. Her fingers fumble for the switch, and she manages a quick, “Yes, Control, I can hear you.”

“Good. The rest of the Survey team isn’t ready yet, but-” A pause, and a sigh. “Look. The outside cameras have been damaged and we can’t tell what it looks like out there. And God, we’re on a whole new planet. Are you ready to head out? We’ve got control of Exit Point Four whenever you’re ready.”

Adrenaline surges through her veins. They’re on a new planet. They’re on a _new planet._

“I’m ready,” she responds, her lips already curving into a grin. “Open the gate, I’ll be there.”

She just about runs out of the central hub, feet carrying her unerringly to the designated exit gate. She’s going to be the first person to set foot on this new world. Their new home.

The door is open when she gets there. Puffy clouds drift above in a rose gold sky. A sea of grass-like plants unfurls before the doorway, waving in a breeze that seems so strong that Claire can almost fool herself into feeling it even through her protective suit. Rocky spires jut from the ground, swirling in helical formations. A glimmering spot of golden light peeks out over the horizon; something in Claire’s gut tells her this is a sea.

“Survey Three?”

“It’s beautiful,” Claire says. “It’s- It’s unbelievable. It’s like a dream.”

She can’t help herself any longer. If the AI has chosen this planet, the air must be breathable, the atmosphere must be safe. Claire unlatches her helmet as quickly as physically possible, pulls down the outer layer of her suit, ignoring Control’s pointed questions about what she’s doing.

Claire flings herself down the ramp. For a single, breathless moment, she feels like she is flying.

The air tastes sweet, warm, dry. The grass beneath her feet is soft. She bends down to press a palm to the ground, laughing at the sheer physicality of it, the realness, the proof that this is indeed no dream.

“Survey Three! Survey Three!” The secondary radio built into her lapel activates, a frantic voice repeating her callsign.

“I’m here, I’m here! I’m safe.” Claire is giddy and giggling as only a young child can be, letting a handful of reddish dirt trickle through her fingers. “This is real, Control. We’re here.”

Another voice joins the channel. “We are, aren’t we?” The voice laughs, and Claire laughs along with it. “What do we call this planet? We have to give it a name. We can’t do anything without giving this a name.”

"We can save that for later-"

"No we can't!"

The two voices bicker, but Claire tunes out the noise. She stands again, staring out into the expanse. There’s a whole world out there to explore. A whole _universe_ to explore. This is what the pinnacle of humanity has bought them: an endless expanse, potential, freedom.

But firstly, and most importantly, it has given them a home again.

“I know what we call this world,” says Claire, interrupting the fight.

“Yeah?” asks the second voice. “Well, what is it?”

Claire laughs in the sweet dry wind, hair flying free, arms thrown wide open. She says,

**“Hope.”**


End file.
